


Thermal Paste

by Heliopause Entertainments (sleepy_wrestler)



Series: Peacekeeping [5]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Medic Complaining, Post-Transformers: Lost Light 25
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-13 06:53:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28774134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sleepy_wrestler/pseuds/Heliopause%20Entertainments
Summary: Ratchet is tasked with, once again, treating their absent-minded captain for something petty.
Relationships: Ratchet & Rodimus | Rodimus Prime
Series: Peacekeeping [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1986511
Comments: 4
Kudos: 36





	Thermal Paste

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PretzelBaron](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PretzelBaron/gifts).



> This has details that reference earlier events in this fic series. However, by and large, these details are not plot essential for this piece.
> 
> Self-indulgent complaining about computer components for a friend.

Once again their illustrious, daring captain was lying impatiently on Ratchet's exam table. Ratchet always wondered whether or not he should have a table _just_ for Rodimus with how often he ended up in here, being both reckless and foolhardy. However, as much as he hated to admit it, since the return of their second captain, Rodimus had made comparatively _fewer_ visits to Ratchet's table. He could only speculate why, but he'd rather not.

The medic grumbled, hands searching in an open chest cavity for the source of the problem. Rodimus had been hauled in by an aged warlord for overheating on the bridge, seemingly at random. He'd fallen right over, passing out in the middle of arguing with Crankcase over the quickest route to their current destination. Strange given his general tolerance to ambient heat.

Unfortunately and, in fact, worst of all, Rodimus was still capable of talking since he'd come to by the time he'd been deposited in the medbay. He whined and complained as Ratchet carefully navigated delicate, overheated innards. He overturned a heat transfer plate that fed some of the exhaust fans via liquid-filled cooling tubes.

"Ah. _Of course._ "

With a grunt, the medic pried the plate away from the component it was tasked with cooling. Flakes of dried white gunk fell away, peppering the table and the patient. Some of the paste still stuck to the plate in chunks. Ratchet sighed, knowing he'd need to scrub it with an alcohol-based solvent to get it all off. Cheap thermal paste, meant only as a low-budget, last minute emergency when proper paste couldn't be procured of if the components themselves were temporary, not meant for long-term use. He held the encrusted plate up for Rodimus to see, shaking it a bit for good measure.

"What is this?"

"Part of my body, duh."

"You know very well what I mean, _Captain._ I don't even _stock_ this kind of thermal paste. Where in the hell did you get it?" Without even waiting for an answer, Ratchet looked back over his shoulder at the other half of the ship's captaincy, who was waiting calmly in the corner. "Where did he get it?"

The old heap shrugged. Bastard was being barely held together by electrical tape and hope, despite his own medical training.

"I'm _not_ Rodimus' keeper."

 _Liar._ Honestly, Megatron could probably have treated this overheating problem himself but the Council had barred him from practicing medicine, outside of emergencies, as part of the contract for his release.

"Bah! Certainly act like it." Ratchet waved him off and turned back to the idiot lying on the table. Grabbing a solvent-soaked wipe, Ratchet knew this would be the start of an all-day process. Rodimus was probably full of this bargain-bin garbage and it would take cycles to replace it all properly. Racers never could take care of themselves, could they?

"Rodimus, you _know_ what thermal paste is for." The oddly docile patient shrugged. Ratchet hoped, cleansing the plate in his hand, he was just fatigued from overheating.

"Heat goop... uh... makes things less hot despite the name."

"Not exactly." Ratchet shook his head, preparing to give a lecture. It wasn't for Rodimus' sake. He knew their firebrand captain wouldn't retain it or at least not all of it. What he did retain would probably be ignored. It was to make himself feel better and to give him something to keep his mind busy while his hands worked.

"Metal plates have microscopic imperfections that inhibit the transfer of heat between them on contact. The imperfections make that contact incomplete." After tossing the soiled wipe in a bin nearby, he held up the plate again, pointing to the surface with his free hand.

"Thermal paste, _good, long-term thermal paste_ fills the gaps to allow for complete, flush contact so the heat transfers efficiently. Don't use that cheap garbage. It cracks over time and, well, you saw what happened. You're lucky nothing warped."

After pulling out a tube of proper thermal paste from a tray nearby and cleaning off the component this plate was meant to cool, Ratchet carefully applied the paste. A little would go a long way, but if all of Rodimus' cooling systems had this paste on them, Ratchet would need at least a few tubes. "Besides, the proper stuff works more efficiently after several hundred hours of use. You shouldn't have to replace it often." _So you can stay out of my medbay!_

Ratchet clicked the plate back in place, none too gently by the slight flinch in the captain's frame. "Now to get the rest of them. Open up. You speedsters have more heat transfers than most. It's gonna be a long day."


End file.
